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by phinamin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Brotp, Cancer, Dementia, Family, Feelings, Feels, Hurt Stiles, I don't know why I did this to myself tbh, M/M, One Shot, Open Ending, Sad, Sadness, Sciles, Scott and Stiles are Brothers, Sick Stiles, Sickness, Stiles has his mother's disease, Stilinski Family Feels, Suicide, Teen Wolf, a hell of a lot angst, cry with me people, i mean not really but then again yes?, implied suicide, its all very sad, sciles brotp, sterek, stiles has dementia, stiles is sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 05:34:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5117390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phinamin/pseuds/phinamin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Please listen to: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HcQJzFzZfVI<br/>while reading this fiction for ultimate crying experience. </p><p>You can all hate me now. Or later. I know I do. [Even better? This is just the short version. A long version will come]</p><p> </p><p>WHYYYY DO I MAKE MYSELF SAD.</p>
    </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> Please listen to: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HcQJzFzZfVI  
> while reading this fiction for ultimate crying experience. 
> 
> You can all hate me now. Or later. I know I do. [Even better? This is just the short version. A long version will come]
> 
>  
> 
> WHYYYY DO I MAKE MYSELF SAD.

“Stiles?”  
A knock.  
“Stiles, son, you’ve got to eat.”  
Shuffling.  
Tick tock, tick tock.  
Time passes irregularly. He doesn’t know when he falls asleep or wakes up, doesn’t know when his body stopped hurting or the tears dried on his cheeks. 

The curtains are closed in his room. There is no sun, no light. He can see red flashing, every now or then, but then he just turns around and pulls the covers higher. 

When he was younger, he thought his blanket could protect him from the monsters at night. So when his mother got sick, he always put a blanket over her. She laughed and snuggled him, pulling him into the protective fort. Her lips had felt too hot and too cold at times, her soft hands so soothing.  
“Thanks munchkin,” she said, finger tapping against his nose. He wiggled it to make her laugh.  
“But if I have your blanket, what will protect you?”  
He had blinked, a bit confused. She had a point.  
“How about we share the blanket?”

It had felt safer. Warmer.  
Now, it felt empty and cold. Stiles curled up more, seeking warmth with his hand where he knew none would be. 

“Stiles, Scott is here.”  
“Hey, I, uhm, brought Call Of Duty? And, like, snacks. Curly fries, dude! Wanna come out? We can call the pack too.”  
He stayed silent until they left, footsteps echoing down the empty hall. Until they were a memory in his mind. 

Days. Nights. Sun up, sun down. He forgot. He remembered. Had his mother felt this way? Drifting. No anchor. He had always wished to know her better. Now he did.

The flowers he first bought to put on his mothers grave. Remembered.  
The first time Scott and him shared curly fries. Forgotten.  
The pattern of his mother’s dress that one summer day at the beach. Remembered.  
‘How free you must feel as a bird, flying over the vast blue.’  
His first kiss on the park bench. Forgotten. 

His father looked so much older when he made it down the stairs. Bend over a newspaper, coffee cup next to him. It had to be morning.  
“I remember her. I forget everything else, but I remember her.”  
Sad, blue eyes look at him, so hopeless. Helpless. Wasn’t he suppose to be the one who should be strong for him? Them?  
No, he had almost forgotten. When his mother had died, his father had him to be strong. And now – no one. So he smiles. He smiles and tells a joke.  
He can’t remember which one.  
But his father’s lines around his eyes become softer and almost disappear when he decides to have a bowl of cereal. He even kisses him like his mother used to do. 

As soon as the door falls shut, he looks down at the bowl and he forgets.  
Forgets that he wanted to eat. 

“I want to go to the beach.”  
Scott looks at him, away from the TV. They were playing …  
He forgot.  
But there is a lot of shooting and death and it helps. Somehow it helps. His own fingers are greasy and he doesn’t know why.  
He forgot.  
“My mother liked the beach,” he adds, so Scott will stop looking at him. It makes him want to curl up again, go back where it’s safe.  
Under the blanket where she should be.  
“I can tell the pack? We could have a field trip.”  
The excitement in his voice wavers, shaky and fleeting like the waves they were to see soon. 

The window is cold when he leans against it.  
He had forgotten why he didn’t want the others around.  
Erica’s voice was too loud.  
Boyd was too quiet.  
Lydia was too persistent .  
Isaac was too … too …  
He forgot.  
But Derek.  
Something warm touches his hand and he thinks of his mother, the soft smile and the flower all over her cheeks on his birthday. She had made chocolate cake.  
“We will be there soon.”  
His voice isn’t deep like he thought it would be. Not rough and dry like the fingers that slide into the place they belong.  
Right between his.  
“Where?”  
He forgot.  
“The beach.”  
“Why?”  
He forgot. He forgot so much.  
He squeezes Derek’s hand, tighter.  
“Your mother liked it there.”  
That he remembers. Remembers the seagulls crying their song above their heads, flying kites.  
“Yeah. She did.”

Splash. Laughter. The smell of suncreme. A picknick. The strawberry juice dripping from Lydia’s lips won’t be seen on the red-white checkered blanket.  
Scott looks good in green swim trunks.  
Isaac won’t take off his sweater.  
Erica and Boyd are like mermaids, in and out of waves.  
In and out of memory.  
He remembers. And forgets.  
But Derek is next to him, never leaves.  
A constant memory. 

“You look happy.”  
“I am.”  
Why? He forgot.  
“Tired?”  
Why?  
“No.”  
“It’s been a long day. The others are already eating dinner.”  
It’s night.  
Days. Nights. He forgot. But the heat is always there. It’s not cold anymore. A blanket that will protect him from the monster’s at night.  
“It’s been long.”  
“Want to sleep? We can ask the hotel for more pillows, make a pillow fort. Scott says you’re good at those.”  
Was he?  
Shaking. He forgot. He forgot. He forgot.  
But Derek holds him tight, carries him. Weightless. Safe. Soft lips brushing against his skin.  
Mother. 

“I’m tired.”  
“I know.”  
“I forgot.”  
“… I know.”  
“Not about you. Never you.”  
“…”  
“You’re my blanket. You keep me safe.”  
“I will always keep you safe.”  
“Always.”  
“Always.”  
“… I forget.”  
“I know.”  
“But our always … I’ll never forget it.”  
“Okay.”  
“I love you.”  
“I love you too.”

Mother said that little things are easily forgotten but never feelings. Connections.  
Scott is the Sun.  
Lydia is a song playing Sunday mornings.  
Erica is the first sip of water after Lacrosse practice.  
Boyd is the soft murmur of a sleep talker.  
Isaac is the soft touch of a sunflower peddle.  
Derek is … Derek is …  
He forgot.  
But not him.  
Never him.  
If he forgot Derek, if he forgot … he forgot … 

“Stiles? Everybody’s waiting in the car for you.”  
The breeze feels nice, but cold. He can see out to the ocean from here.  
“I thought you were the sun. But you are laughter with the family at Christmas dinner. You’re family.”  
There is warmth next to him, but not what he needs. It isn’t …  
He forgot.  
“Of course and you’re mine. My brother.”  
…  
…  
…  
“We’ve been through a lot, you know? But you were always right there. You were always with me, Stiles. And I … I don’t know what to do if you aren’t. We swore to ride this out together – this should be our ride. Our life. Together.”  
…  
“I only have you. Family.”  
“Then never forget.”  
It’s warm, but not what he needs.  
“I won’t.”  
And he believes him. He remembers. 

The engine is loud in Scott’s ears, too loud. They had spend the last three days at the resort by the beach, but there was only so much time they could take off.  
Erica, Boyd and Isaac were cramped in the back, cuddling. Sleeping. When he looks back into the mirror, he can see the hotel disappear between the pine trees.  
“We will see them again.”  
It’s Lydia. She hadn’t cried when Derek had told them to leave. Even when she had begged him not to go through with it. Derek had smiled, for the first time in ages. No words, just a smile and like that Lydia had accepted. She understood why Derek had walked back into the hotel room with a bottle of pills in his hand. She was always the strong one, even now. Keeping the car straight on track back to Beacon Hills. Scott watches her from the side, before looking back out of the window.  
“We will see them again. This isn’t … this isn’t a goodbye. Someday, we will together again. He will … he will come home.”  
Scott smiles. No, maybe it wasn’t a goodbye. But it was the last ride for them, together.  
The trees pass them. Quick. They blur together, a beautiful symphony out of green and brown. And in between, faintly, he can see something red and black.  
A quick grin.  
A wave.  
A flash of white teeth.  
Laughter and growling.  
And maybe he shouldn’t cry again, but he does.  
“He’s already home, Lyds.”  
And someday, maybe, Scott will be in Stiles’ home as well, telling him about the rides he had without Stiles.  
When he'd see him again. 

“You’re home. I couldn’t … I forgot. But I know now. You’re home.”  
“Do you need a blanket?”  
“No. I am not afraid anymore. I have you.”  
“And I have you.”  
… …  
…  
“It’s been a long day.”  
“I know.”  
“I love you.”  
“And I love you. – Sleep, you must be tired.”  
“Okay.”  
…  
…  
…  
“Stiles?”  
…  
…  
…  
“... Stiles? …”  
…  
…  
“I’ll be home soon.”


End file.
